


Catch Me

by SquibUwU



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Cabins, Canon Gay Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Character Death, Conflict, Cottage core, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Domestic Fluff, Dystopia, Elemental Magic, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Gay Male Character, Hopeful Ending, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Sex, Lesbians, Love, Love Confessions, Magic, Magical Tattoos, Major Character Injury, Mild Gore, Misogyny, Prostitution, Shapeshifting, Winter, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquibUwU/pseuds/SquibUwU
Summary: Cléa Lleuku lives in a man's world, forced to weasel her way through loopholes and strength alone to get to the top. She achieved her dreams to become Captain by the time she turned 27, knowing her fight was far from over. And though she didn't expect an easily life from here on out......she certainly wasn't prepared for what she got.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Female Character, Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

The life of a hunter was one of many lessons. They must always know what their prey is—figure out their every move long before it’s planned it. Their life depended on the ability to realize when those roles suddenly flipped, when it was them who needed to be aware of each step they took. 

This Huntress was no different. She’d learned many lessons of her own in training and fighting for the Miïl village guard. 

One—always be prepared for the worst.

Two—know which battles  _ can _ be won. 

Three—never assume the roles of hunter and prey are as cut and dry as they may seem.

Those were the three rules Cléa Lleuku lived by, built by the lessons she’d learned. The ones which allowed her lungs to take a giant, gulping breath of air whenever she awoke with night terrors. 

Her rules. 

She was fine as long as she followed them like they were the holy scripture—which, for Cléa, they were. But the problem was, none of her rules prepared her for hunts that were fruitful. And on a day such as this, she found herself wishing for guidance. 

Cléa stood underneath the looming shadow of her new home, angry winter winds snapping at her hood. She kept it atop her head with a firm hand, the fur tickling her cold, dark cheeks. Her auburn, cat-like eyes traced the cottage roof, warily taking in the heavy build-up of snow on its surface. 

The freezing winter winds clearly didn’t have it in them to spare her cabin. They slammed into the brick and dark wood walls, threatening to topple the small hut. The thick windows groaned under the strain but the durable glass would overcome the wind and snow. At least, Cléa hoped so. Deciding it was best to cut to the chase, the Huntress trudged up to the dark, wooden stairs of the porch. Snow built at the fur on her boots and some pesky clumps managed to wiggle their way between her pants and shoes. She paid no mind, one gloved hand tightening around her bags as the other let go of her hood. 

Cléa held onto the snow-covered railing for dear life, frozen wood creaking under each of her steps. Very few times she managed to slip, landing on what must’ve been an icy step. Her hood fell off her head, snow leaping for joy as it flew to her hat. She caught herself thanks to the railing, making it up to the porch safely. 

The Huntress didn’t bother shaking off the snow from her clothing just yet, knowing the door was probably frozen shut. Her speculations were proven correct the moment her hand gripped the handle. Cléa heard the satisfying click of an open door between the wind’s furious howls, smiling at the knowledge that the lock wasn’t frozen inside. She finally managed to force it open after multiple futile attempts, sending the wooden door flying back. 

The entrance opened into a connected living room and kitchen—two small rectangular rooms. They were barren of furniture or any life at all, something Cléa frowned at. She peeked in a little further, seeing a small hallway branch off to the right. A bedroom and a bathroom, she mused. The cabin was dim, only lit by pale blue light streaming through the large windows in the living room. Dull, dark wooden slabs framed the corners and doorways, giving a uniqueness to the cabin interior. 

Cléa could already feel the chill of the house from here, the emptiness threatening to swallow her whole. But she scanned the living room a second time, spotting a small pile of logs just beside the hallway to the bedroom. 

“At least they left me with something,” she mumbled to the cabin, the look of unamusement resting comfortably on her sharp features. Cléa shrugged off her jacket, shaking out all the snow she could onto the porch. She hit her boots against the railings, causing clumps of snow to freely tumble down.

The Huntress walked into her new home, slipping off her shoes and placing them in the corner by the door. She threw her jacket, hat, and scarf onto the coathanger, the rickety metal beams swaying for a moment. 

“Gonna have to replace that, for sure,” she groaned through a shiver, looking at the rusted legs of the coathanger. She sauntered close to the fireplace, noting the spots where wood groaned picking up a select few logs on her way. The Huntress felt the urge to dust off the bark, though she refrained from doing so without her gloves.

Cléa’s fire started up quickly, the Huntress being a natural at the art of survival. They were the skills she picked up being forced to live in a man’s world. She stared at the flames as they reached dangerous fingers higher into the brick fireplace, pondering the thoughts that came with such a soothing sight.

The Huntress wished they were lies, though it was childish to. In her world, it was do or die. Do it by a man’s rules, follow their unspoken laws up to the smallest detail or get sent to the stake and die with 'bitch' marked on her grave. Not to mention, getting a grave after execution would be considered lucky.

If any woman decided to rebel, she better not be good. She had to be ten times better, ten times more prepared, and ten times as strong. A woman had to outmatch a man in anything, at any time, in any place.

But survival wasn’t enough for the Huntress. She felt selfish… cocky for admitting so, but she simply required more than that plain life of constant struggle without reward. 

Cléa wanted to  _ thrive _ in the man’s world. She wanted to make it her own and prove she was  _ just as good _ if not  _ better _ than any man. 

“Stop it, Cléa,” the Huntress scolded herself for thinking in such a manner. It was too much for now. She had to focus on the smaller steps before letting her mind fill with dreams of larger endeavors. 

She turned away from the fire, thumbing at the dust on the fireplace. It was everywhere—on the floors, coating the counters, and now also dusting her jacket and shoes. 

Cléa gave a hefty sigh, knowing she had work to do. 

And dear Gods, that was an understatement. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome readers to "Catch Me", a little lesbian story I thought up! It's gonna be a bumpy ride filled with badass women, discovering one's identity, character death, and so much more! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!  
> Also, there will be a glossary at the end of every chapter that'll go over all the fantasy and world terms mentioned! That way no one will have to scour through pages of text just to find where that word was explained (totally not what I do as an author. I am not calling myself out here-). 
> 
> Enjoy!!  
> ~Squib
> 
> Glossary:  
> -Miïl: a snowy forest village located in Ūwqor.


	2. Chapter 2

“Back again, Captain?” 

Cléa’s gaze rose from the entrance of the Flaming Viper. It was an elegant building, with multiple burning fireplaces scattered throughout the dark interior. The Huntress could feel the energy of the woman who designed the layout and design everywhere she looked—the red couches, the dark bar, and especially the intricate tapestries of nude women. 

Cléa shook away her thoughts and refocused, turning her attention to the familiar woman who spoke. 

Wynn Njern—reigning prostitute of this establishment. It was technically hers, after all. 

She wore a floor-length, satin dress that complimented her curves perfectly. It was a diagonal cut, her left leg entirely revealed while her left shoulder was covered by the royal, green fabric. It framed her collar with soft fur, traveling down the centerline of her body to conceal her breast before stopping at her navel and fanning out. Golden bands stretched her hips, right shoulder, and torso, keeping the mesmerizing dress in place. 

Cléa’s attire was much different. A simple crimson suit made of ula—the spun fur of an elk-like creature, a vedth. In contrast to the rich fabric, the Huntress’s dark skin looked cooler and brighter. Her brown belt was studded with sheaths and small weapons pouches. 

Wynn looked down at the Huntress with a frown and popped her hip, causing her skirt to sway. The motion pulled her from her thoughts gently, letting her focus return to the question. 

“Do you have information?” Cléa cut to the chase, her auburn eyes closing. She rested her elbows on her knees—not daring to put them on the table and risk the older woman’s wrath—and cradled her chin with a pensive finger. 

“Now, now, Captain, you know time is money,” Wynn tutted, crossing her arms over her chest. Her golden bracelets jingled along her wrists as she tapped her foot against the stone floors. 

The Huntress sighed. “You’re gonna run me dry before I reach 30,” she joked in monotone, fishing out a small leathery bag from her maroon suit. She held it out for Wynn, staring into her upturned green eyes, small crinkles brushing their corners from upcoming age. 

_ ‘They match well with her dress,’ _ Cléa thought.

Wynn sent her a cheeky smile, pawning the sack with an elegant, pale hand. She squealed at hearing the sweet jingle of coins. 

“You choose to come here despite the price. I’d say this is your fault,” the silver-haired woman hummed, counting the shimmering coins in her palm with a wide grin. Her eyes twinkled at the small tip, stashing the pay in the hidden pocket in her dress. “How can I help you, Captain?”

Cléa resisted the urge to groan and instead just landed on a frown. She ran a steady hand through her short, black hair, pulling the inky locks from her face. “What information can you give me on my men?” 

“Five lower guards are planning a coup. According to Eko, they don’t have too much support just yet,” Wynn said nonchalantly. 

“And you didn't tell me this when I came in because…?”

“No pay, no information.” 

“Right. Money,” Cléa sighed, standing up slowly from her seat. She shrugged on her bulky fur coat, hiding her hands in its pockets to locate her gloves. “It’s been a pleasure-”

“Wait- Don’t tell me you’re leaving already.” Wynn’s soft features turned sour, a frown stretching her small lips. 

“I have a coup to put down-”

“Stay just a little longer? You paid extra,” Wynn explained, that frown never leaving her lips though some speckles of hope trickled into her eyes. “That means I have more time for you. Come on… At least for some tea?”

“Do you have a spare coat rack?” 

“I… Do I… What?” That question certainly got the disappointment off Wynn’s face, replacing it with bewilderment. Cléa simply straightened her spine, mentally checking if she could still feel all her weapons on her.

Thigh, calves, belt, chest, back, arms, and boot—all good. Their familiar weight made soothing tingles run down the Huntress’s limbs. 

“Do you have a spare coat rack?” she asked again, her voice cool and collected despite the question being bizarre at best and uncouth at worst. It all depended on the older woman’s mood, really. 

“I don’t know that off the top of my head. Stick around for a bit, I’ll look and see if there’s anything Eko can do without,” Wynn said with a wary voice. She knew her husband wouldn’t mind a missing coat rack, but her brows twitched anyway. 

Cléa forced her eyebrows to remain still, ignoring the pull to furrow them. Wynn was oddly uneasy today. The Huntress ran through hundreds of scenarios within seconds, wondering briefly what brought this on.

A poor interaction? 

A few perhaps? 

“I’m afraid I still have to leave. Tell me if you find anything.” She ended up keeping her concern quiet, deeming her energy level today as low—no thanks to the blizzard outside. 

“Hold on just a moment. You paid me extra to look, I never planned on telling you if I found one.”

_ ‘She’s going to be the death of me,’ _ Cléa sighed. All she really wanted to do was go back to her new home and cook something warm. She longed to sit by the fire, reading a book on animals and veterinary practices as someone hummed, lovingly running their fingers through her hair.

But Cléa could only dream of such a life… one that felt warm and cozy instead of harsh. She glanced at the exit. It was so close that she could see the flecks of snow coming in from outside as the wind sped. 

Miïl was always cold, but in contrast, the Flaming Viper radiated heat into the dark world that surrounded them. A sick form of freedom, in Cléa’s opinion. The Flaming Viper was the only place a woman could safely, legally work, and even the word  _ safely  _ was a stretch. 

“You want me to stay that badly?” she asked, voice as cold as the blizzard outside. 

“Yes, and I have the perfect excuse prepared.”

“Let’s hear it,” Cléa sighed, turning her back towards the exit. 

“Captain, the tip I received is enough to allow you access to my storage of gifts. From there you can take whatever you please.”

“Lead the way.” Internally, Cléa groaned out again. Wynn was a very specific woman, and the Huntress knew her well enough to foresee her never ending stream of questions the moment they entered the storage shed. 

“You say that as if it’s a death-sentence, Captain.” Wynn rolled her eyes and motioned for her to follow. They ambled down the hallways, dark wooden frames contrasting the beige wood. It gave the Flaming Viper a professional air to it, bordering on dangerous depending on the client. “Is spending time with me really so horrible?”

“What new gifts did you receive this week?” Cléa asked to brush over Wynn’s question, though from the sound of annoyance she heard, her attempt offended her. 

In truth, the Huntress didn’t mind her presence. She enjoyed it, despite the constant beating her wallet took. Talking with Wynn, even if it was only for a few minutes, brightened her day considerably. 

Cléa just had a hard time saying those words, she found.

“Sometimes, I don’t see the difference between you and a man,” Wynn snarled. She flung open the door to the hallway, pointing down with an accusing, pale finger. “Shed’s down there. If I see you there longer than thirty minutes, I’m going to send Eko after you,  _ Captain _ .” 

With that and the swift twirl of her green dress, Wynn was gone.

Cléa watched her leave, resisting a hiss at the twinge of guilt in her gut. She knew she shouldn’t have said that. Wynn was already having a bad day, and the Huntress did nothing to help with her responses. 

She sighed, meandering down the hallway and gently opening the door to the shed. The rush of cold air hit her instantly, causing the Huntress to shudder. She entered the dark room, chilled to the bone even in her fur and ula. 

It was like a cemetery, filled with ghosts of vengeful spirits which clung onto the living world. The rows upon rows of dark shelves were packed with all kinds of gifts, ranging from dead flowers, to beautiful paintings, to intricate vases or decorations. Cléa even spotted a massive blue bed pushed up against the corner. 

All of them were given to Wynn as bribes. They meant to represent a man’s ability to protect, cherish, and provide for his wife, and commonly unmarried men would try stealing the beautiful wives of other men to boost themselves in status.

Cléa sorted through them, trying to keep the place as tidy as she could. She shifted past broken chairs, peeked under delicate tapestries, and searched through towering wardrobes to find a coat rack. The Huntress had one goal in mind, knowing that any other items from the shed would be worthless anyway.

She had to carry them back, after all. Though she was strong, Cléa doubted her arms could lift up a 7’, pure wood, triple-door wardrobe. 

Cléa gave a loud sigh, closing the closet a little harshly. With all the bizarre gifts in this shed, not  _ one _ man decided to give Wynn a coat rack? She was just about to give up when a strange shape behind an untouched, dusty tapestry caught her eyes. 

The Huntress trudged through the mess, hopping over a jungle of furniture and weaving past the maze of shelves. She smirked as her hands pulled back the deep purple fabric, revealing just what she’d been searching for. 

“Found you.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehehe, Chapter TWOOOOOO! ENJOYYY!  
> ~Squib
> 
> Glossary:  
> Flaming Viper- originally a bar owned by Eko Njern, but was gifted to his wife, Wynn Njern after their wedding. It’s now a prostitution institute, allowing women to work in Miïl with some assurance of safety and pay. 
> 
> Miïl- a snowy forest village located in Ūwqor.
> 
> Ula- the spun fur of a vedth. It’s used to make formal winter clothing thanks to its heat-retaining abilities but more expensive look. 
> 
> Vedth- an elk-like creature with silken, white fur and a set of dangerous fangs. It’s found in the deep forest in packs, though sometimes a pack of vedths will drift into Miïl looking for food.


	3. Chapter 3

The Huntress huffed loudly, lounging in her armchair with a book held loosely between her fingers. Her thumb rubbed the old, leather-bound pages, making large, leisurely circles into the material. She pensively watched the fire dance, letting herself go off into deep thought as it entertained her eyes and locked her focus. 

The path Cléa decided to go down on that frigid evening wasn’t her usual—her mind vacant from plans for guard training and law implementations. It wandered to thoughts of family, rebelliously continuing despite how hard she fought to stop it. 

Because she knew where that path would go, where it always went. 

Satlyn Lleuku… Cléa’s dad. He died back when the Huntress was only 18, nearly nine years ago. 

Her father was commonly described as a kind man, a lucky man… a foolish man. He believed a woman’s place was in the home, catering to the family while raising children, as all men thought. 

It was common knowledge. 

Women were simply created as gentle creatures, meant to be cherished and coddled. They had to be whipped into shape, taking on the responsibility of motherhood and becoming the leading figure in domestic life. Both responsibilities were seen as things women weren’t cut out for. They had to be guided to that location by a big, strong, burly man in polished leather. 

But Satlyn had a different way of putting that belief to practice. 

He taught Cléa what the boys learned in school, everything young girls were denied. Her father thought it was silly to assume a woman could be the head of a house without basic knowledge of math, literature, and history. They’d spend hours together in the study, long days Cléa dreaded to see memories of in her sleep. 

The men of Miïl called him mad, warning him that a woman’s mind simply couldn’t understand such complex topics. They told him she was better off like the rest of them, unknowing so her soul wouldn’t be corrupted. 

Oh how wrong they were. 

_ “To be the mother I know you can be, Cléa, I need you to learn. How else will you care for my grandchildren? Without even knowing how to read them bedtime stories? Ridiculous,” _ his voice hissed from the fire, curling up as it desperately tried to reach the sky through her chimney. 

“Disgusting man,” she snarled. The Huntress furrowed her brows, her grip on the book tightening. She only snapped out of her fury when she heard the leather beneath her fingers moan. 

Cléa gave a heavy sigh, slotting in a red string to her book and closing it softly. Its worn, yellow cover clashed with the pale wood of her coffee table as if it were calling out to her again.

Her father’s books were yellow too, though most were green or blue. Their old pages folded at the tips much like the veterinary study before her. She remembered thumbing through those pages with shaking fingers, frantically reading the words as he paced around the office. 

Cléa stood, turning away from the flames. She didn’t want to think of her father any longer. On her arms, sometimes she could still feel his wrath—anger he taught her to endure like all fathers do. It was training for when they’d grow from girls to women, and one day take that treatment from their husbands too. 

All of it made her  _ sick _ . 

Pale sunlight quelled her desire to dig up her father’s grave and steal his honor away, running calming hands along her skin like a lover would. It danced in the furnished room, breathing life into the leathery surfaces. 

Her new home was still quite empty, but the Huntress assured herself she liked it that way. In the kitchen she had a wooden table, carved with smooth waves that mimicked the lakes. Cléa’s five chairs matched the style of a hunter’s cabin. They had leathery cushions and fur blankets draped over their backs, grey hairs tickling their wooden legs. 

The connected living room felt tucked away, despite being open to the kitchen and entryway. Her dull, leathery couches curled into a semicircle around the fire—a brown fur rug the raft for her wooden coffee table. The coat rack she searched so hard for a week ago stood tall next to the door—twisted wood styled like the branches of an oak, holding her thick winter jackets. 

It felt like the beginnings of home, though it was still… empty. Something was missing among the forest-style cottage and the gentle golden tint that encased the chairs, couches, and bookshelves thanks to the fire. 

Something… or someone. 

The crack of flames shook Cléa from her trance. She scoffed at her own thoughts, picking up her book again. Her mind silenced on command, latching onto the new objective. 

The coup.

_ ‘Those five… I still need their names and their plans. Eko said he’d narrow the list down… but that was a week ago. I’m on my own, like always,’ _ the Huntress mused, prowling down the corridor to her bedroom. She peeked in—the wooden door slightly ajar—and traced the lines of her bed and wardrobe. The newspaper was still turned to last week’s report on the Flaming Viper—poor, as always. Her wardrobe was still opened wide and the bear traps under her window remained unsprung.

Just as she left it. 

Cléa drew back, satisfied with that knowledge. She could never trust a man to keep his word, not here, not now, and certainly not ever thanks to her occupation—a direct challenge to the man’s world. 

The Huntress pushed up the white sleeves of her button-up shirt and palmed her walls with a free hand. She slipped her fingernails into a discrete space between two planks of wood, smirking to herself when she found the lever she’d been looking for. With a soft click, the secret door opened inward, allowing Cléa to creep into the hidden stairs. They were mere slabs of stone at that point, stacked together in a haste, but eventually she’d polish and carve them into proper steps. 

She quickly made her way up to the circular attic—her true bedroom. It was smaller than the bedroom downstairs, but the Huntress couldn’t find peace sleeping there. She’d rather take the chilly hidden space with low, slanted ceilings with triangular windows curling along the walls than a swift death below. 

Cléa knelt next to her bed—a soft mattress piled with pillows and warm blankets. She placed the book down on a pillow, deciding to continue her studies later, and threw open her drawers. The Huntress pulled out maps, notebooks, and hundreds of files she kept on every one of her soldiers. 

Hours passed her by like this, sitting atop her bed with only the pale, waning sunlight outside to light her room. Cléa read through each file carefully, reconstructing the soldier in her mind. Before she could figure out which five would dare cross Miïl’s captain, she had to know how to deal with the situation. 

She made three piles beside her bed to classify her soldiers. The left had those she could trust, only four files—Eko being one of them. The center pile—making up a third of her troops—had those she could reason with. That left over three hundred men in the far right group… those she wouldn’t trust with something as simple as delivering a basket of food. 

The Huntress knew how past captains dealt with coups. They’d make a show out of them, publicly humiliating those who dare oppose them. But her case was different. 

Cléa Lleuku was a woman. 

Putting down a man, public or private, would only cause outrage. It could even give neighboring villages reason to poke around. She’d be beaten to death before the noose even wrapped around her throat. If Cléa wanted to live… she had to be smart. 

The Huntress’s brows furrowed, a frown sharpening her features. She leaned back, her shoulders slack but her posture in no way relaxed. Her knee rose to brace the arm she flung over it, a paper file held loosely between her middle and index fingers. She stared at the piles, auburn eyes glowing intensely in the dim, candlelit room.

Cléa found herself feeling lost in the blizzard she created, shivering as she tried navigating a world that was forever set against her. She was stuck spinning around trying to regain a sense of direction…

But all she could see was snow. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary: 
> 
> Flaming Viper- originally a bar owned by Eko Njern, but was gifted to his wife, Wynn Njern after their wedding. It’s now a prostitution institute, allowing women to work in Miïl with some assurance of safety and pay. 
> 
> Miïl- a snowy forest village located in Ūwqor.


End file.
